


A Home for Christmas

by Coffee_Reveries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Bed-sharing, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Reveries/pseuds/Coffee_Reveries
Summary: Harry is on the verge of 30 and he's moving in with his best friend Hermione for Christmas. It'll be a blast, won't it? A collection of moments from move-in to when friends become more.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 66
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2020





	1. A Move-in of Convenience

It had seemed like a perfectly sensible decision when they discussed things while half-drunk on a noisy Friday night at the Leaky Cauldron.

  
  


Harry had recently left his shared flat with Ginny following their break-up and taken temporary refuge with Ron and George in their apartment above Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. However, all their efforts weren’t enough to keep Ginny’s howlers from coming in, or her appearing out of nowhere to torment him in the oddest of ways. Harry was tired as hell of all this breaking-up ordeal and the brothers were too. Though Ron and George had the best of intentions and knew that the end of his and Ginny’s nine-year relationship had become tragically inevitable, it was hard to keep playing mediator between their best mate and little sister on a daily basis. Enough was enough and Harry knew he needed to move out, for the sake of all their sanities.

  
  


So when Hermione told him that she was given her three-bedroom childhood home to move back into after her parents retired to Portugal, it seemed only sensible for her to offer Harry room and board in his time of need. It’d only be temporary anyway, for as long as he needed until his tenants departed the flat he owned on the converted top-floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

  
  


Hermione's house was comfortable and large enough, had been recently renovated and Harry wouldn’t need to worry about rent as long as he split all the bills with her. Though money was definitely not an issue, her proposition was tempting and it wasn’t like they had never lived together before. They’d lived in the direst of ways in a tent together during the war ten years ago and there had been that semester after graduating from Hogwarts where they lived in a flat in central London, trying to figure out what they’d do from then on.

  
  


But eventually Hermione left to attend University in France thinking a change of scenery, language and just about everything would help her get over all the leftover pain and trauma, and she’d always been the intellectual type anyway. Paris suited her like no place ever seemed to have before, not even their beloved Hogwarts. As for Harry, he had stayed behind for girlfriend reasons and because of a ‘promising’ career as an Auror.

  
  


What is it about being  _ almost _ thirty that makes people completely want to change their lives before thirty actually arrives and it feels like it’s too late?

  
  


Harry was sick and tired of being an Auror. He was also sick and tired of being Ginny’s fiancé and having arguments with her at least once a month over his hesitancy to schedule a wedding date or start a family. Ginny rightfully accused him of being selfish and thinking only of himself, leading her on for all these years. But of course, he had! Marriage to Ginny Weasley would mean being married forever, living under the same roof with her forever, being part of the amazing-yet-scary Weasley family  _ forever _ . 

  
  


It was during a moment of clarity while on a Sunday outing with his very wise ten-year-old godson that Harry realized it all had to come to an end, otherwise Harry himself would come to an end.

  
  


So Harry turned in his resignation and enthusiastically accepted his best friend Hermione's proposition. They both figured it would be nice to have the company and living together would be the perfect way for them to reacquaint themselves with one another, after all, she'd been living in the continent for the better part of a decade and they had much to catch up on.

  
  


…

  
  


The day Harry arrived with his few belongings at number 7 Thistlewaite Street, it was raining cats and dogs and he’d been equal parts lucky and unfortunate to have hitched a ride in the old Ford Anglia that Arthur Weasley bequeathed to his sons George and Ron upon his old age. The car was practically falling apart but managed to deliver him safe and sound. He barely had the chance to take a breath of crisp December fresh air when he was drenched head to toe with the freezing rain. Quite simply he’d forgotten to mutter the simplest of spells. He waved to Ron behind the wheel and dragged his old school trunk, as he stepped past the boundary of an old wrought-iron gate painted white, Hermione’s house wards chimed and he immediately saw the dark blue door open wide, her figure watching over him from the doorframe.

  
  


“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” She said with an almost evil grin, letting him through into the tiled foyer. With a swish of her wand and muttering an incantation he barely registered, his clothing became immediately dry, as well as his hair. All he could do was blink in her direction, not knowing quite well where to hide. “I just cleaned the house this morning, if you got everything wet I’d be forced to hex you.” 

  
  


Her face was so dead-pan and her eyes so serious as they bore into Harry’s that he felt a shiver down his spine. Perhaps it hadn’t been his brightest idea to move in with a textbook Virgo, a woman who was such a complete control-freak and perfectionist that she didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘relax’. 

  
  


Harry felt like a mouse falling straight into a deathtrap. All of a sudden he longed for the stained sofa in George and Ron’s flat that he’d been sleeping on for three weeks now.

  
  


Hermione seemed to detect his look of pure fright as he gazed back at her, not too differently from the terrified stares of her first-year students at Beauxbatons. “Seriously, Harry, it’s like you don’t know me at all.” She rolled her eyes and exhaled dramatically, locking the front door behind them manually. “Care for a spot of tea?”

  
  


“I do, actually.” He left his trunk right there at the foyer and followed her into the living room, which further connected to a dining area before entering the kitchen of bright red cupboards and light-green walls. It smelled of spices, ginger, cinnamon, a bit of clove… Spices that reminded him of Hogwarts at Christmastime. “Dear Merlin, you’re baking!” It wasn’t a question and Hermione shrugged as she reached for the kettle and lit the stove with a match, while Harry eyed the oven with a teasing smile.

  
  


"I'll have you know that I've picked up a few culinary tricks in France." She shook her head then started going through the cabinets until she finally took out a tin filled with different flavors of tea. "Which do you prefer? I've got Yorkshire, Earl Grey, Hibiscus, Cinnamon, Green tea, and Chamomile."

"Earl Grey, please." Harry looked around, feeling uneasy that she was working all alone. He decided he was better off helping somehow. "Where do the teacups go?"

"Third cabinet from the left, next to the refrigerator." She answered as she took three bags of tea and threw them in a teapot she’d placed on the counter earlier. He could already smell the citrusy bergamot scent, which oddly reminded him of Divination under Professor Trelawney. No sooner did the kettle begin to whistle and Harry found the pretty porcelain teacups. Hermione then took out her first batch of freshly baked gingerbread cookies. The scent of them made his mouth water and Harry really hoped that his best friend had truly learned to properly bake. He levitated the cups and teapot while she placed the cookies on a plate. The two of them left the kitchen and settled themselves comfortably on the blue camelback sofa in the living room.

  
  


Hermione eyed him rather strangely for a moment as if she wanted to say something but was afraid. To be honest, it was quite awkward for him too.

  
  


"So, tell me, Harry, how have you been? I'm sorry we didn't properly talk at the Leaky Cauldron... I reckon we were both too eager to get plastered." There was a hint of humor as she spoke, remembering their first meeting in months on end that took place the past weekend. Hermione took a sip from her cup and Harry watched her with interest as she seemed to savor the taste.

  
  


“You didn’t put milk in your tea… That’s very un-English.” He pointed out, knitting his eyebrows. She looked up from her tea to gaze at him and couldn’t help but chuckle.

  
  


“Well, one can actually  _ feel _ the taste this way.” Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile that appeared on his face from hearing that particular tone in her voice. The kind that was bordering on arrogant and full of pride. Right then and there she was twelve-year-old Hermione again, and Merlin how he’d missed her. Hell, he'd even missed fifteen-year-old Hermione! “Anyway, don’t change the subject…”

  
  


"Hmm, well, to be honest, I think maybe it was what I needed--leaving Ginny and the Auror Academy. And really, you offering me to stay here was a bit of a saving grace..." He gestured around the house. "This feels more comfortable than Ron and George's flat. Sleeping in a proper bed for once will be nice, their sofa isn't great for my back."

  
  


"Your back?" Concern etched on her face as she began to nibble on a cookie.

  
  


"I don’t know about you, ‘Mione, but you know you're getting old when you've at least complained about your back!" He spoke in a light humorous tone. 

  
  


She smiled softly then put her teacup down. "Really, Harry, how are you? You've just made two important decisions and I don't expect you to be totally fine with it. You've ended your longest relationship  _ and _ your career! You know there had been rumors about you becoming Head Auror in a couple of years..."

  
  


Harry sighed deeply, his eyes conveying a tiredness that he’d been mostly successful at hiding until now. Hermione always had a way of lowering his defenses and calling him out on his bullshit.

  
  


"Believe it or not, I have never felt this  _ weightless _ even after the war. It only took one conversation with Teddy to finally make me realize. But don’t think it’s been all that easy either..." 

  
  


Hermione’s eyes shined at the mention of Teddy’s name. It was no secret that she’d always had a sweet spot for him, the boy looked like Dora, but his heart and his quiet wisdom were all his father Remus.

  
  


"Oh, that godson of yours is getting more brilliant by the day. Andromeda’s done splendidly." She said with fondness.

  
  


"Yeah, that kid will give you a run for your money, Hermione. He's as brilliant as you." He smiled as a sudden feeling of warmth enveloped him. He wondered if that's what fathers felt when they were proud of their offspring. In a sense, Teddy Lupin felt like Harry’s own.

  
  


"So, what did Teddy say that made you just drop everything?" She smiled back affectionately as she noticed his reaction upon mentioning his godson. 

  
  


"Can you believe that he quoted some dead muggle writer bloke? I don't know what Andromeda is feeding him or  _ reading  _ to him. Kid's way beyond his years... Anyway, Ted told me that  _ 'To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.' _ ”

  
  


Hermione’s eyes widened ever so slightly upon hearing those words, impressed by how a little boy knew them and also with just how much it seemed to have touched her best friend’s stubborn brain. 

  
  


Harry continued, “I'm not sure how he got to telling that to me, maybe he's just more perceptive than normal." He turned his head to face her better. "All I know is that it  _ got _ to me, and the next thing I knew I had ended things with Ginny and quit my job. It took  _ donkey years _ for me to get past the denial phase... I realized that I was constantly trying to convince myself I was happy but in truth all I was doing was getting too comfortable in the routine… Stuck in this  _ stupid _ bubble. I think I’m still too young to be living in a bubble."

  
  


"The dead muggle writer bloke was Oscar Wilde, actually… And I couldn't agree more with your decision. If it’s made you happier then why not? Nobody wants to be stuck in a cycle that would only result in regrets and could-have-beens later on." She told him assuringly. There was a bit of silence as they drank and ate their cookies, in fact, Harry found them quite delicious, rivaling the ones they’d eat at Hogwarts during the holidays. 

  
  


Her eyes met with his again and she felt compelled to ask: "So, what's next for Harry Potter?"

  
  


“Oh, well I’m actually on holiday, if you don’t mind…” He responded with a smug grin. “I intend to eat a lot, sleep a lot, go out just a bit, but mostly catch up on my muggle movies and avoid Ginny. The last hex she cast my way had my  _ Harry jr. _ unresponsive for a week.”

  
  


Hermione choked on her tea, sputtering in laughter. Her cheeks turned a bright crimson as the warm liquid trickled down her chin. Harry laughed as well with a twinkle in his eyes as he watched her. There was nothing quite like Hermione Granger’s laugh. It was loud, unladylike, unapologetic, fearless and every bit  _ her. _ He’d missed having Hermione around all these years.

  
  


“All right, Miss-laughs-a-lot, what brings you back to these dull English shores?”

  
  


“Oh, you know, re-writing that miserable  _ ‘Hogwarts, a History’ _ . I’ll finally make it good, Harry.”

  
  


“Make it  _ good _ ? Hermione, if it wasn’t good enough why did you read it over and over again when we were kids?” Hermione tilted her head and looked at him in that way of hers that translated to  _ ‘you poor, ignorant sod’ _ .

  
  


“Oh, Harry, you’ve never read it properly have you? Because if you did you’d know how terribly dull it is, not to mention completely unfair and riddled with inequality! It doesn’t mention the house-elves, nor any notable muggle-borns  _ and _ it’s obscenely biased when it comes to certain houses. I’m going to make the new generations love it, Harry.” 

  
  


There was a flaming passion in Hermione’s voice and eyes and Harry quite envied her for it. Hermione knew what she wanted, even though she was quite delusional. No  _ regular _ kids would ever willingly read and enjoy the book. Of course he wouldn’t be the one to break it to her.

  
  


“So you left your job as a Beauxbatons professor for  _ this _ ?” Hermione nodded and shrugged, tucking her legs beneath her as she leaned further into the sofa.

  
  


“I loved my job, Harry, but it was never home.” 

  
  


He nodded in understanding and looked at her with those big shocking-green eyes of his. There’d always been a level of sadness in them, which was to be expected given all the tragic circumstances of Harry’s life. Nevertheless, they were truly the prettiest pair of eyes Hermione had ever seen.

  
  


“Hermione, how does one  _ know _ they’re home?” She was silent for a long moment and not just because her mouth was full.

  
  


“I don’t have the answer to that one yet, Harry. I guess we’ll have to find out together…” She smiled at him brightly, then added: “Harry… The two of us as housemates. Are you  _ sure _ you’re ready?” Harry eyed her in that smug way of his and bumped her gently with his elbow.

  
  


“I’m super ready.”

  
  



	2. Harry's to-do list

It turns out that living with Hermione Granger means waking up to a to-do list tacked to your door and charmed to follow you and reintegrate itself whenever you try to rip it up in pieces and toss it in the bin.

After nearly two hours of failed attempts to dodge and destroy it, Harry found himself begrudgingly climbing the steps to the attic in order to retrieve the dusty boxes with Christmas decorations. Needless to say, his Auror pride was brutally shattered and Hermione was truly the mistress of evil like Ron had said.

The attic, despite the dust and the bloody horrible cold draft was quite the object of interest. There was antique furniture like dressing tables, and stuffed monkeys and dogs with shiny glass eyes. Deep red velvet curtains with rich gold trim were haphazardly thrown to a corner next to what he recognized as Hermione’s old school trunk and an assortment of porcelain jars, some lidded. Curious as ever, Harry raised the lid of one of the jars only to be horrified to find several teeth. 

He let go of the lid, which clattered against the other jars and broke into several little pieces.

He grabbed the three boxes with  _ Christmas _ written on them and hastily carried them down, finding Hermione’s attic easily scarier than even Snape’s goddamn dungeon.

“Hermione!” He shouted, outside the double French doors leading to her room-he-should-not-enter-under-risk-of-being-AK’d. He knocked on them almost frantically. “Hermione, what the fuck were those teeth in that jar upstairs?”

Seconds later her head popped out of the door and he could see her rolling her eyes at him.

“Harry, my parents were dentists. They liked keeping souvenirs from their more  _ challenging _ cases.”

“That’s just disgusting.”

Hermione shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s almost nine, have you taken the rubbish out, yet?” She asked him.

“I’m on holiday, ‘Mione.”

“And I’m at my wits’ end, Harry.”

He looked at her face with that part-annoyed, part-haughty expression of hers and suddenly felt an  _ odd _ feeling in the pit of his stomach. The way she parted her curly hair to the side today, and the way the ivory sweater-vest somehow brought out her more  _ physical _ attributes wasn't lost on him. Harry found himself gulping as soon as he realized blood had rushed to his groin area and his heart was pounding like he was utterly besotted.

“ _ I’d take your wits away any day… _ ” 

When her eyes widened and her lips arched downwards he realized the giant idiocy of words had actually escaped his mouth.

“ _ Umm _ , better just drop these downstairs, yeah? Don’t want to be late putting out the rubbish.

He all but ran for his life. Hermione was left standing there at the threshold in utter disbelief.

  
  


Later that evening when it was already dark and the soup wasn’t yet bubbling in the pan, Hermione slipped on a thick wool sweater and put on a scarf. Harry was out hanging the Christmas lights the muggle way because the neighborhood was muggle and he wasn’t at all in the mood to deal with the repercussions of being seen with his wand. Plus, the extra work was good, anything to take Hermione and her sexy witch looks out of his head.

  
  


“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, eh, Harry?” She asked him, startling him in a way that almost made him lose his balance on top of the ladder.

  
  


“Bloody hell, Hermione. Kill me already, will you?”

  
  


She laughed then, her hands buried deep in her pockets, cheeks turning red.

  
  


“Come on, soup’s ready, time for dinner.” He was about to inform her that he still had an entire side of the house to deck in lights when she did the job herself by flicking her wand. The antique enlarged bulbs glowed in shades of red, yellow, green and blue. “If you’re lucky enough I’ll even let you give me a foot rub.”

  
  


Harry climbed down the ladder and closed it, carrying it back inside to store in the pantry off the kitchen.

  
  


“Did France turn you into such a tease? I don’t remember you being so funny.” He muttered, rolling his eyes.

Hermione chuckled as she followed right behind him.

  
  


“On the up side, it seems all is better with  _ Harry Jr _ .” She hit his arm playfully, smiling in delight as his cheeks and ears turned a bright red. “Don’t worry Harry, France has made me a much more  _ experienced _ witch.”


	3. Royal Canasta

Days later Harry invited Neville over simply because he needed a buffer between himself and Hermione. They were going Christmas tree shopping and Hermione was carrying measuring tape and a camera just to be able to make comparisons and determine the best bloody tree.

  
  


He felt he might die of boredom watching her go between twenty or so specimens for  _ hours _ when he could be at home watching the next two films on his bucket list along with much-deserved bottles of butterbeer. He had after all spent the morning scrubbing the kitchen tiles and rearranging the dishes and cupboards in a way that actually made sense to a normal human being.

  
  


Teacups next to the refrigerator, such a  _ bloody _ hodgepodge.

  
  


“This one!” He heard her exclaim from where she was next to a tree that was perfectly identical to the one next to it. Neville, ever the patient friend, helped her manoeuvre it and the salesman helped them load on to Hermione’s father’s car. They tied it to the top and drove home to Thistlewaite.

  
  


It was a curious surprise to Harry how after only a few days the place had already grown on him. Vines of purple flowers covered the brick exterior of the house and the large bay windows had pretty stained glass features. He loved that the door was a bright, glossy red. It made the large wreath Hermione decorated stand out more.

  
  


Once the three of them carried the tree inside and properly set her huge self up by the window in the parlour, to the right of the fireplace, Neville rubbed his hands together and began to say his goodbyes. Hannah was waiting for him at the Leaky so they could go shopping for last minute Christmas gifts. He and Harry exchanged pats on the back and Neville gave Hermione a parting kiss on the cheek.

  
  


After Neville apparated away, Harry looked at Hermione and she looked at him. They hadn’t been alone in a room since yesterday at dinner time, when for some mysterious reason they had deemed it normal for two best friends to  _ flirtatiously  _ banter.

  
  


“Did you do something drastic with your hair in the past few years? What’s this perfume you use? I can feel it all around the house.”

“What, does it smell bad?”

  
  


Harry rolled his eyes.

  
  


“No,  _ obviously _ .”

  
  


“Obvious to whom?” Harry snickered, shaking his head. “You know, we can decorate the tree tomorrow.”

  
  


“Yeah? And do what instead?” Hermione smiled and walked his way swaying her hips in a fashion that simply did not match up in his head with the Hermione of his childhood. Had she been abducted by aliens? Was someone feeding her love potions?

  
  


She came impossibly close to him and lay her left palm against his chest. Their faces were just an inch or two apart and Harry had no choice but to breathe in her fancy, delicious French scent and feel the soft fabric of her shirt graze against his hand.

And then, Hermione wickedly produced a deck of playing cards, an equally wicked grin on her face.

  
  


“You know I always win.” He told her, eyes sparkling competitively.

  
  


“HA! But I’ve been practicing and you know I have the  _ habit _ of aceing everything I practice.”

“True, but talent trumps practice, my friend,  _ and _ , you’ve never won me once.”

  
  


The two almost raced to the dining room table where Hermione shuffled the cards with her wand. Harry kept a watchful eye in case she attempted to cheat. They both knew it wasn’t in her character though, but didn’t care at all if they were acting like silly children.

  
  


“How’s your  _ little _ book going, Granger?”

  
  


“How does losing feel like, Potter?” She retorted, with a devilish grin. When she flipped over her many cards to reveal a perfect Royal Canasta, Harry knew it was over for him.

  
  


“ _ Fucking hell. _ ” He muttered, looking at her in disbelief.

  
  


“A cat it is then.” Harry grumbled. 

  
  


Had he won the game they’d get a pet dog instead.


	4. Princess Leia or heaven forbid Boudiccea

After they finished decking the tree late morning the two friends sunk into the blue camelback sofa to watch season after season of  _ The Vicar of Dibley _ and then  _ The Office _ , laughing and snickering into their cushions. After about the tenth episode, they’d moved into an almost spooning position, Harry’s arm and leg thrown over Hermione who hadn’t been quiet in her complaints but also hadn’t done anything to free herself from his hold.

  
  


She found she enjoyed his laugh vibrating against her back and his fingers that gently stroked her hand.

“You smell of vanilla and cinnamon…” He told her, burying his nose in the curve of her neck, making goosebumps arise on her skin.

  
  


She decided to shift their positions as her back was beginning to complain, turning over with some difficulty until her head faced his chest. Harry continued to hold her, closer and tighter even against him and Hermione sighed, letting herself relax.

  
  


It was nice to be held.

  
  


“Are we getting our cat tomorrow?” She asked him after a while. Her eyes were closed, tired from the hours of brightness coming from the television screen.

  
  


“If by cat you mean a dachshund…” He trailed off, feigning nonchalance.

  
  


“You lost the game Potter, we’re getting a cat!”

  
  


“Oh, come off it Hermione. It’s a small enough dog and they have shiny black fur and are adorably long and short-legged. They’re great hunters too.”

  
  


“Why would I want a hunting dog in the middle of London?” Harry shrugged.

  
  


“The butcher’s dog had a litter of six… Come with me to see tomorrow, ‘Mione…” She huffed.

  
  


“I already put it in my diary to visit the Clapton cat shelter tomorrow.”

  
  


“Can you really resist an adorable sausage-dog puppy, Hermione? Are you really that heartless?”

  
  


“I’m beginning to regret all this pet thing.” Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  
  


“You’re right,  _ love. _ The house is big enough for one of each.” Harry felt Hermione tense against him and before she could tell him off or hit him Harry cleverly popped away, probably to his bedroom.

  
  


Hermione in turn found herself plopped against the rug, staring up at the ceiling, skin tingling where he’d kissed her. She should take better care of her heart… She was beginning to tread down a dangerous, almost forbidden path.

  
  


...

When Hermione arrived home carrying a beautiful grown ginger cat with green eyes in a carrier, a black and brown puppy ran and glided against the wooden floor. The puppy played with one of Harry’s socks, growling and shaking her head as if it were some vicious foe.

  
  


Almost nineteen years of friendship and it was still unbearably hard saying know to the bloody wanker. The puppy was beautiful, sassy even, and had the tendency to follow after Hermione whenever she was downstairs. She found her heart melted each time the puppy licked her or nuzzled against her feet.

  
  


Before Harry had had the chance to choose between Princess Leia and Boudiccea for names Hermione had called her Daisy, and it stuck.

  
  


The cat, though an adult, had taken an instant liking to both her humans, rubbing against their legs, purring and lazily sleeping in a ball next to them on the sofa while Harry watched  _ Léon the Professional _ for the millionth time.

  
  


“I’m naming him Leon,” He declared, as Hermione sat curled into her favorite armchair with her favorite builder’s tea and a new book.

  
  


“Leon the milk-drinking mini-assassin?” she teased and Harry chuckled.

  
  


“Clever girl,” he quipped, sending her a silly face.


	5. Teddy comes to visit

Hermione woke up much later than her usual at almost noon, certain that Harry must’ve slipped something in her tea. When she padded down the stairs in her flannel sausage-dog pajamas and robe, having really adhered to the dog-owning idea, the cat was asleep on her armchair and the puppy on the red velvet cloth under their Christmas tree with Harry’s sock. She would’ve missed little Daisy there entirely had the tree not been full of immaculately wrapped gift boxes and bags in assorted Christmas colors, patterns and bows.

  
  


Harry had been busy, she reckoned.

  
  


When she walked into the conservatory, subdued grey light courtesy of weather this time of year in London there were fresh baked scones with homemade strawberry jam on the table, as well as a thermos full of her favorite tea.

  
  


She took a seat at the head of the table and noticed the paper snowflake decorations and chains of colored paper hanging about.

  
  


Suddenly, the glass door that led to the garden opened, a blast of cold air rushing in and chilling her spine. Hermione turned around to see Teddy Lupin in all his muggle winter apparel, the electric blue of his coat contrasting with the bright magenta of his hair.

“Hello!” He greeted with a grin. “We were beginning to think you were dead up there,” he teased.

  
  


Hermione jumped out of her chair and wrapped the boy in one of her tight bear hugs, covering him with kisses. Teddy grumbled because that’s what grown-up little boys did but she paid him no mind.

  
  


“When did you get here?”

  
  


“About seven?” Her eyes widened. That was a bit too early for a boy on holiday. “Granny had important errands to run, also known as my Christmas surprise to buy.”

  
  


“Hmm, and where’s that godfather of yours?”

  
  


“Shoveling up the snow, silly. It was on that scary list following him around.”

  
  


“It snowed?”

  
  


Teddy nodded vigorously.

  
  


Hermione forgot all about scones and tea and ran to fetch her coat, gloves, scarf and boots.

  
  


Teddy chuckled, amused. Sometimes Aunt Hermione forgot she had a wand and could just summon things.

  
  


That evening, Teddy Lupin was granted permission from his grandmother to sleep over, which meant occupying the single bed in Harry’s room. With no room left for the godfather to sleep, Harry found himself  _ forced _ , the poor sod, to seek refuge in the bed of the lady of the house. After all, the sofa hurt his back quite badly.

Unlike his room which was on the smaller side, and equipped with a bed better suited for little boys, Hermione’s was large and cosy, with pops of color that were all her. Baby blue built-in shelves surrounded a fireplace and were cramped with volumes and volumes of books.

The comforter on her queen size was of a soft, patchwork quilt over layers of heavenly-soft white duvet and a small mountain of pillows and cushions, some goose-feathered, which Harry was very appreciative of.

Harry slipped under the covers right after making a fire, the room becoming nice and toasty, just what he needed after a day in the snow. He snuggled into the pillows with her delicious scent, thanking the heavens for Teddy Lupin.

When Hermione came in from her office carrying a mug of chamomile tea, about an hour later, she was still yet to change into her pajamas. That’s when she saw Harry, sprawled underneath the covers, slightly snoring, hugging her favorite pillow, while Leon the cat slept rolled into a ginger ball of fur across his back. Daisy had likely fallen asleep with Teddy, her new best friend and all was still and quiet at home.

Hermione tiptoed across the room and opened her drawer of sleeping clothes, pulling out the first item her hands touched without seeing. She slipped into the bathroom and stripped out of her sweater and jeans, dipping into the soft ivory silk of her nightgown. The thing had thin straps and elegant lace at the bust, falling effortlessly over her body, just below her knees.

Without much thought she slipped beneath the covers, careful not to wake Harry or the cat and found herself staring at the flames, tired but unable to sleep.

“I can’t hear you snoring or mumbling in your sleep yet…” She heard him whisper after a while, feeling his hand boldly travel to her thigh, grazing her skin upwards until it rested over her waist. He somehow ditched the pillow in her favor, her back glued to him.

“Haven’t slept with anyone in a while…”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Just used to it being different, as in, not with my best friend.”

“Ah, boyfriends and lovers is that it?” She could tell he was teasing her.

“ _ Precisely. _ ”

“Let’s not let it be the thing holding you back.” Before Hermione could even think, his hand found its way up to her breast, cupping it and giving it a squeeze. The dress was loose enough that his fingers easily slipped beneath the silk, caressing and kneading.

“ _ Harry… _ ” She sighed in pleasure, pressing herself backwards, further into him, “Lips too next time, yeah?” She mumbled, already half asleep.

He chuckled at how utterly easy it was.


	6. December 22nd

The morning of 22nd December was crisp and dare-say delightful. Harry awoke to no list of chores which felt like a small miracle. The cat hopped off the heavenly unmade bed, stretching against the carpet before following him out of the room onto the hallway.

  
  


It seemed their biological clocks had somewhat aligned today that he bumped against Hermione, leaving the bathroom in the corridor, wrapped in her plush blue robe.

  
  


“Time for breakfast…” She explained, feeling somewhat bashful and warm-cheeked, her thoughts darting to the absolutely transcendent level of intimacy from last night.

  
  


“Good morning, ‘Mione…” He mumbled out, running a hand through the mess of black hair. Her eyes darted to those long fingers, the same fingers that had caressed her breasts last night.

Harry reached for her, attempting to kiss her on the cheek. Surprised, Hermione swiftly turned her head. His kiss landed instead on the delicate, sweet-soft lobule of her ear.

He heard her gasp and felt goosebumps arise on her skin. Her eyes were as wide as saucers when he looked at her and she just stood there like a statue in the middle of the corridor, not knowing how to react.

He made a face and scratched the back of his head, looking a bit lost and a bit worried at her state.

  
  


“Earth to Hermione?” He finally attempted, waving his hand in front of her face, until it once again landed over the swell of her breast, nipple tender and hard under the silk. He heard her breath catch.

  
  


Hermione’s eyes locked with his and soon she was overcome with an impossibly hot feeling in the pit of her stomach, as well as a rush of something she couldn’t quite name before clumsily pulling him smack against her, nearly knocking them both over and kissing him on the mouth.

  
  


He was shocked out of his mind at first, but then grabbed her firmly by the waist, backing them up against the wall with picture frames of Hermione and her family from years ago. Her lips tasted of mint toothpaste and cinnamon cookies they’d been nibbling on the evening prior.

  
  


He didn’t want to but they had to pause for breath, his forehead gently resting against hers, his fingers gliding up her waist and arm to cup her face. He kissed her softly, tenderly, and then trailed a line of kisses along her jawline until she all but melted into his touch when he once again reached that sensitive spot on her ear he now knew drove her mad with desire. Harry kissed and nibbled as Hermione clutched the fabric of his shirt, her heart beating like mad against his chest.

“Harry…” She whispered, fingers sliding up to tangle in his mess of raven hair. “Does the fact that I’ve been wanting to snog you for days make me an awful friend?”

  
  


He paused for a second and she felt him chuckle, his warm breath touching the sensitive skin of her neck.

  
  


“Must make me a doubly awful friend because snogging doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve been wanting to do with you the past days.”

  
  


Hermione had great pride in the fact that she was mostly immune to men and their usually cheap brand of charms and seduction, but even she couldn’t avoid the butterflies in utter furore inside her belly, or her legs threatening to fail her as he whispered.

  
  


Harry looked at her again, pressing his lips against hers once again. She could feel his arousal pressing against her.

  
  


“I may be falling for you, Granger.”

  
  


She thought she might’ve died and gone to heaven upon hearing those words and then being pulled back into her bedroom.


	7. Ron knows

The 23rd of December was usually the evening where all of them gathered together at the Leaky to kick off Christmas celebrations. All of their mates from school along with partners and spouses was enough to fill the pub. Dean Martin’s muggle Christmas playlist was always a hit, with the likes of Sting and Mariah Carey drawing witches and wizards to their makeshift dance floor.

The lot of them, Harry, Hermione, Neville, Hannah, Ron, Angelina and George sat around a table waiting for Luna to arrive with their next round of Holiday Cheer in the form of firewhiskey.

The more she drank, the more Hermione felt it increasingly harder to get her hands off Harry.

They’d fucked all of yesterday, all over the house to the point she thought her legs might fail her. Tonight she wore French lingerie of a light blue color underneath her black turtleneck dress, a pair of jade earrings dangling from her ears, her curls piled into a messy knot on her head, pretty curls crowning her face.

She wanted it to be kept under wraps for now, mainly because Harry’s split from Ginny was still too recent and none of them knew if the redhead would be making an appearance.

Harry was well over tipsy by now, passing around photographs of their Daisy and Leon for the others to see and swoon over, ever the pet lover. His eyes looked on to the pictures as people looked at them with the fondness of a proud father. 

Perhaps it was this that she loved the most of Harry. How genuinely and wholeheartedly he loved.

Ron nudged her with his elbow, motioning towards the photographs.

“Playing house, are we now, Hermione?” His eyes and voice were all tease as Luna snuggled on the other side of him and chuckled, paying attention to their exchange. “One can’t help but feel respect for just how speedy things went.”

  
  


Hermione blushed furiously, unable to hold in a nervous laugh.

  
  


“You have sex written all over you Granger. I know the look on you, we’ve done it before.”

  
  


Luna slapped Ron’s arm, laughing hard likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol.

  
  


“Yeah, a million years ago for like ten seconds, Ronald.” Hermione retorted to what he raised a shot of firewhiskey.

  
  


“Thank Merlin for the gift of experience, though,” He said, turning to wrap an arm around Luna and kiss her on the forehead.

  
  


“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Luna added, “We won’t tell a soul.” She winked at Hermione then, her clear blue eyes full of humor.

  
  


They walked to the apparation point hand in hand, horribly drunk and singing Sir Paul McCartney’s  _ Wonderful Christmastime _ like a couple of barmy lunatics, getting most lines wrong.


	8. The "I love you's" bit

Hermione couldn’t remember having such a pleasant Christmas in a long time. Her Mum and Dad had flown in from Portugal bringing gifts and looking more tan than ever. They would stay in their usual bedroom, left just as they left it months ago. They’d gone to bed over an hour ago, with Harry insisting everything was fine and he and Hermione could manage cleaning up without them.

Cleaning up had taken a few handy spells and flicks of the wand, the truly deliciously tricky part had been shagging Harry in the pantry without making too much clatter and noise.

Turns out the quiet, goody-two-shoe ones are the wildest in the bedroom department. Harry wasn’t at all complaining.

He found he loved just lounging with her on the bed or sofa, talking or watching something on the telly. They laughed quite a bit together and it turned out Hermione  _ did _ have a sense of humor.

  
  


He had his moments of worry, however. He worried that this was just a fluke and that once the honeymoon phase passed they’d drift apart. It was a complicated mess being  _ this _ intimate with one’s best friend.

  
  


Hermione was a beautiful woman, someone who had wonderfully grown into herself. She was confident and always the smartest person in a room. Her voice was levelled and elegant sounding, without being posh. He found out she sang Elton John songs in the shower, and every morning her hair looked like a tornado had happened on her head at night.

  
  


He loved her scent and the way she rubbed on cream before bed every night, smelling of fresh  _ Dove _ soap, her skin delightfully cool.

  
  


He found himself wondering how their babies might look, the horrible mess of hair they’d be destined to inherit. He thought of their future daughter hating them in her teenage years, not even a hundred bottles of sleakeazy’s sufficing to settle the do. He got a good laugh out of that one.

Harry wanted all of that with Hermione. Watching episodes of True Crime together until death did them part.

It was all quite overwhelming how love could sneak up on you. Worm its wicked way up one’s heart and just catch one by surprise. For nineteen years he’d known Hermione Granger, but there was still so much to discover about her. And he wanted to discover and he wanted more than anything to build a life with her.

Hermione carried a sleeping Teddy upstairs to the guest room where Andromeda was already fast asleep. Neville and Hannah had left just after midnight. It was around three now. Teddy had wanted to see if his Santa Claus trap worked. The poor lad. He’d passed out on the sofa just ten minutes later.

This was his family, this was all he ever wanted. It felt unreal how seamlessly they’d slipped into this mould. Turns out it all depends on the right person after all.

  
  


“Harry…” He heard her whisper once she came back down dressed in her snowflake pajamas, carrying the puppy in her arms.

  
  


They were both exhausted.

  
  


“Yeah?”

  
  


“Are we really doing this?” He knew exactly what she meant. He could see the anticipation in her eyes and the same worry he felt himself.

  
  


“I think it’s obvious that I love you, that I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  
  


“Who is it obvious to?”

  
  


“I’d hope you…” 

  
  


She sighed. “I’ve a confession to make…”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“I’ve fancied you for years now. Never thought moving in together would do the trick though.” She laughed suddenly, her cheeks turning pink.

  
  


“ _ Oh _ , well, I think it was mostly your sex goddess moves…”

  
  


“ _ Sex goddess moves?” _ She laughed out loud at this and Harry was just happy to watch, “I love you, you twat.”

  
  
“Hermione, I love you  _ and _ your twat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little token of my love and affection to all readers this Holiday season. Merry Christmas!
> 
> Reviews = Love


End file.
